


Arachnikid- A Series of Drabbles

by Jennsepticeye



Series: The Adventures of Arachnikid: Radioactive Disaster [3]
Category: Original Work, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: (for arachnikid), Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, First Aid, Fluff without Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Minor Injuries, No Plot/Plotless, literally just drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennsepticeye/pseuds/Jennsepticeye
Summary: Listen, I could not stop thinking about Frankie and their girlfriend, so I wrote these. They're posted separately because I haven't introduced Nicky to the main series yet beyond a single text message.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Series: The Adventures of Arachnikid: Radioactive Disaster [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124747
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. See my scars but don't freak out

**Author's Note:**

> I started an ask blog [here!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ask-arachnikid)
> 
> here's some art on another one of my blogs! [Here's one!](https://mirko-simp.tumblr.com/post/636440842287136768/heres-another-arachnikid-piece-i-did-that-im) [Here's two!](https://mirko-simp.tumblr.com/post/636440504540807168/so-heres-my-spidersona-arachnikid-you-can-read) [Here's the third!](https://mirko-simp.tumblr.com/post/636410403411394560/i-drew-the-top-one-back-in-2018-and-the-bottom-one)  
>  And here are my socials!  
> [Here's my Twitter!](https://twitter.com/jennsepticeye)  
> [Here's my Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/jennsepticeye/)  
> [Here's my Tumblr!](https://keensepticeye.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during a school break, when Nicky is staying over at Frankie's fathers' apartment.  
> At this point Nicky knows about Arachnikid.

Frankie tries to be quiet, really, but it’s hard with the way the stab wound in their thigh smarts with every step, and even with their mask off it’s hard to see past the blood dripping into their eye. So just three seconds after crawling through the window Frankie trips on the rug right in front of the couch where Nicky is sleeping.

“Babe, is that you?” She slurs, sitting up.

Frankie is tempted not to answer, to just lie, bleeding sluggishly, on the hardwood, but they’re glowing too much for Nicky not to notice.

“It’s me, darling.” They say, standing slowly. “Don’t worry. Go back to sleep.”

They kiss her on the forehead before heading to the bathroom, trying not to let their limp show too much. They don’t bother turning on the lights, they’re glowing brightly enough to see anyway, and the overheads will just hurt their eyes when it’s this dark. They peel off the top half of their suit first, letting it bunch around their waist, before leaning against the counter to work at their pants. After a moment to brace theirself they peel the suit away from the wound of the night. It’s tacky with blood and just a little bit crusted to the open wound.

Frankie’s spider-sense doesn’t go off, it tends to be very selective, so they startle just a bit when soft hands settle on their back.  _ Nicky.  _ Frankie must have forgotten to close the door.

Nicky doesn’t say anything for a moment, hands tracing familiar but unidentifiable patterns along the skin of Frankies back.

“I thought you didn’t scar.” She says quietly.

_ Oh.  _ So that’s what the patterns are. She’s tracing the irregularities in the swirling pattern that covers Frankie’s entire body. Nicky had assumed that they didn’t scar because she’d never been able to see them. Frankie doesn’t scar, at least not visibly, but now every wound from the last six or so years is lit up like a neon sign, highlighted by the bioluminescent chemicals that concentrate over healed injuries, old and new.

Nicky’s fingers trace one of the long marks down Frankie’s back once more before she sighs. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up.” 

“You don’t have to. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“Like hell. Hop up on the counter, we’ll get that washed and wrapped.”

Frankie does as they’re told, because there’s no arguing with Nicky when she has that look on her face. They lean back against the mirror as Nicky fetches the first aid kit.

“Be honest. Do you need stitches?”

“Nah. No stitches, but you’ll want to use one of the big trauma bandages so I don’t stain anything… else.” Frankie replies, eyeing the dark smear on the white countertop. It looks almost black in the blue light of Frankie’s bioluminescent glow.

“Noted.”

Nicky works in silence, washing out the wound with saline that makes Frankie hiss and wrapping gauze around the entirety of their thigh. When she’s finished with that she zeroes in on the blood crusted down the side of Frankie’s face. It’s only a small wound at the edge of their hairline, but head wounds bleed a lot. Nicky stands between Frankie’s knees and holds their face in her hand, using the other to carefully scrub away the blood with an antiseptic wipe. Frankie can’t help but lean into the touch, eyelids drooping. It’s hard, sometimes, letting other people take care of them, but this is nice.

“What’s the story here?” Nicky asks, once she’s finished. She’s tracing a ragged scar on the inside of Frankie’s left arm.

“Shrapnel from a building explosion.” Frankie answers.

“What about this one?” She says, running a finger along the long straight mark across their sternum. Frankie’s heart thrums just beneath the surface.

“A mugger. Same night I crashed on Castle’s couch for the first time.”

“Really? A mugger?”

“Yeah. He was lucky, and I wasn’t very good at my job yet. I was like sixteen?”

“And this one?” She’s tapping her fingers over the claw marks on Frankie’s shoulder. They’re jagged and awful from the way their flesh had torn, and Frankie still remembers the white hot pain.

“Same as the ones on my back. Vulture had a bone to pick with Spiderman. I just happened to be in his way.” They reply.

“Frankie…” Nicky says softly. She’s got this heartbroken, fearful look on her face and Frankie hates it.

“It’s okay sunshine. I’m all healed up.”

“What about this one?” She’s got Frankie’s face cradled in both her hands, thumb tracing their bottom lip. Frankie can’t see it, but they know the mark she’s talking about, the one that cuts through their lip in a perfectly straight line.

“Russian Mafia. They wanted information, and I didn’t give it. Think the asshole’s name was Dimitri.” They say, laying their hands over Nicky’s on their face. The adrenaline crash is making them feel floaty, but Nicky’s touch is grounding.

“I worry about you.” She says, pulling Frankie down so their foreheads are pressed together and they’re breathing the same air. “You hide everything so well it makes me worried that one day something will happen and I won’t know a thing. You never ask for help.”

“I can’t— You didn’t sign up for all this, Nicky. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You can, and you should.” She says. “I know you have Castle and the others looking out for you out there, but let me look out for you here.”

Frankie doesn’t have a rebuttal for that. There’s still a voice in the back of their head telling them that they’re a burden for needing help, and that they should get by on their own, but Nicky is right. There’s no reason to hide all this from her.

“Alright. You win.” Frankie whispers, dropping their hands from their own face to wrap them around Nicky’s waist and pull her into a soft, chaste kiss. They’re a little choked up for no reason at all, and Earth-666’s Paige’s words are ringing in their ears.

_ “You’ll find your person, and when you do, hold on with everything you have. You deserve to be happy. Got it?” _

“Come to bed with me?” Frankie asks, as the light from their skin is starting to dim.

“But your Dad said—“

“So what? I’m ace and we’re both adults. What’s he gonna do?” They kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s cool if you don’t want to, but I don’t really want to be alone at the moment.”

“Of course I want to, don’t be stupid. Let’s go. We both need some rest.”

Later that night, with Nicky’s arm wrapped around their waist… Well, Frankie hasn’t woken up so well rested in a long time.


	2. Overwhelmed 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie gets overwhelmed while studying with their partner Nicky, but some things aren't as hard to deal with when you're not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These tics are based off my own sensory issues. I am not diagnosed with a tic disorder, nor did I do extensive outside research.  
> This will not be accurate for everyone with tics, please don't flame me.

After the first few times it happens Frankie gets a grip on sensory overloads. They’re still awful and overwhelming and bad, but Frankie knows how to deal with them now. They know when to walk away if things are getting too loud, and how to ground theirself if things get too bad. They know when the suit’s sensory limiters are useful and when they’ll make things overwhelming. They know when the tics get bad that it’s too late to stop an episode, and they’ll have to ride it through. They know all these things, but sometimes it doesn’t matter.

“Wait, for this code we’re supposed to use a float for the variable height, correct?” Nicky asks, not looking up from her laptop.

“Yeah.  _ —wow!—  _ You can also use a double, I think.” Frankie sighs as they’re interrupted by a series of tics. Their head snaps to one side over and over again. Frankie counts four of them before they can look at their screen again. It’s quiet in the rec room of the dorm hall, and it makes Frankie’s tics feel that much more intrusive.

“You alright?”

Frankie’s face flushes red, and they nod. “I’m fine, just  _ —haha!—  _ just tired I guess.”

It’s not technically a lie. Frankie  _ is  _ exhausted, they’d been on patrol for the better part of the night, but it’s more than that. They’re tired, and the homework is piling up, and the anniversary of the Blip is next week, and it’s a lot to handle all at once. 

Nicky gives them a look but goes back to her work without a word. Frankie does the same, typing out a few lines of code before they have to shake their head again, hair flopping every which way. It’s too quiet and that means Frankie can hear the fluorescent lights above their heads and the water in the pipes, and it’s a lot. They slam the heels of their hands together a few times before setting them back on the keyboard.

Frankie wants to finish this assignment. It’s interesting and challenging and everything that makes learning good, but it’s hard to focus when their head throws itself backwards hard enough to make an audible crack, accompanied by several loud nonsense words. Frankie puts their laptop on the coffee table and rests their head on their knees, at least they try to, but their head keeps turning and they can’t stifle the noises coming from their mouth.

The couch cushions sink next to them, and Frankie wants to apologize, but they know Nicky won’t have it. She’d made it very clear that none of Frankie’s idiosyncrasies were bothersome or inconvenient even before they started dating. 

Nicky is a line of warmth down their left side, and her hand is gentle on their back. There aren't so many nerves there, so the touch is comforting rather than overwhelming. Frankie's not sure if she's doing it on purpose or if it's just coincidence.

“What can I do to help, babe?”

That is the question, isn’t it. If they could plug their ears that might help, but they can’t keep from turning their head or they’ll feel worse. They’re really stuck between a rock and a hard place with this one, since they don’t have the suit’s limiters or compression at their disposal. 

"Don't know.  _ —woah!—  _ " 

The room is too big and too bright and it's just a matter of time until they're sent into a complete sensory attack, and Frankie really doesn't want to deal with a migraine right now.

_ In-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. _

"Too open." Frankie says 

"Would it help if I squeezed you? Or would that make it worse?"

"One  _ —mmmm!—  _ one way to find out." They say, right hand flapping. They feel out of control and weird. 

Nicky lays her arm over Frankie's shoulders, and when the action bears no ill consequences she drapes her whole body over their back, knees on either side of their hips. There's only so much Nicky can do to avoid Frankie's thrashing head, so they try to keep it somewhat still. Their vocal and hand tics increase to compensate.

_ In-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. _

Nicky's weight settles across Frankie's back and all the air leaves their lungs in a rush. They can lift seven tons like it's nothing but Nicky's hundred-and-some pound weight is  _ crushing  _ in the most comforting way possible. Frankie only barely keeps theirself from collapsing all at once, chest pressing into their knees, folded completely in half. Ever since the bite, everything has felt too big and open but right now, crushed under Nicky's weight, they finally feel small and insignificant. There's no superhero duties, no Blip, just a whole lot of noise and the feeling of Nicky's heart thump-thumping against their spine.

_ In-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. _

"Hey there, Frankie. Just focus on me." Nicky whispers, lips moving in the space between Frankie's shoulders. 

Frankie does, measuring their breath with the steady beat of Nicky’s heart. In for four and out for four. Nicky’s hands press into their chest as Frankie’s own rap against their shins over and over. 

Finally their hyperactive brain starts to give up, their forehead resting against the cushion between their knees. Tics coming less frequently.

“That’s it, babe.” Nicky says. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Frankie agrees. They let their right hand tic a couple more times before they use it to free Nicky’s own hand, lacing their fingers together. Frankie has to be careful to control their strength in times like these, and it’s just the thing to keep their attention off the loud buzz of the lights and the overwhelming need to  _ move.  _

“You all there, sweetheart?” 

They take a moment to think about it. Their eyes don’t itch, there’s no pressure building around their temples, and their breath comes evenly. The only indication that anything was wrong is the soreness in their neck and the sheer volume of the world around them. It’s like the whole episode had been stopped in its tracks, and that’s never happened before.

“Yeah. I’m all here.” They say, giving Nicky's hand a gentle squeeze. After a second to gather theirself they slowly sit up, giving Nicky time to extract herself from between their back and the couch. She sits next to Frankie with her legs across their lap. Not once does she let go of Frankie's hand.

"Are you alright? What happened?" 

Frankie lays their head on top of Nicky's, figuring out the best way to explain. "I— I don't know exactly but it's not new. My working theory is that stress makes my senses, including the spider-sense, go haywire when I'm stressed. Things get too loud and my brain thinks I'm in danger, so it reacts by making me dodge, maybe?"

As if to punctuate the point, Frankie has to lift their head and shake it a couple times. 

"So like, sensory issues?" Nicky asks. "Is it always that bad?"

"No, usually it's worse." They say honestly, and they can picture the concerned frown on Nicky's face. "Usually I end up having a full blown panic attack, topped with a migraine. The suit has sensory deprivation settings so I don't get too overwhelmed but it's not exactly  _ —ah!—  _ inconspicuous."

"What do you usually do? To deal with it, I mean." Nicky's thumb rubs back and forth across their knuckles, still a little bruised from the night before. 

"Nothing. When the tics get that bad I can't— I just find somewhere comfy so I can crash when it's over." Frankie answers. "Even with the mask it can be— I haven't found a way to 'deal' with them."

She seems to ponder that for a moment, holding one of Frankie's hands gently while the other snaps it's fingers over and over. "Text me next time, okay? I may not always be able to help, but I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, okay."


	3. Scars and Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie has a lot of scars, they tell Nicky about a few of them.

After the first time Nicky sees Frankie’s scars, she makes it a personal mission to ask about each one, soothing them with gentle fingers and soft kisses even though they don’t hurt. When they’re not glowing, Frankie’s scars are completely invisible, save for the ones curving under both of their pectorals. They assume it’s because they acquired those before they were bit by Oscorp’s freaky spider.

“What’s this one from?”

They’re lying together in Frankie’s dorm bed. It’s not big enough for the both of them, really, but Nicky doesn’t seem to mind. It’s dark save for the glow from Frankie’s skin, and Nicky’s soft fingers are tracing the patchy ragged mark on the left side of their back. Blunt force had torn the skin there, abraded by the rough surface that they had been thrown into. When it happened it had taken Frankie several long seconds to so much as breathe. All of the air had been punched out of them.

“My first— My first battle with Rhino. He threw me into a stone wall.” Frankie says. “I think there’s a matching one on my scalp.”

Nicky doesn’t say anything but Frankie can feel her shift to kiss the mark with chapped lips. She does the same to the long claw marks on their back and Frankie tries not to let their breath shake.

“And this one?” Her fingers dance over a sharp slash Frankie’s waist. It tickles.

“Mugger. Same night my Dad found out I was Arachnikid, because he had to carry my ass to Claire’s house to get patched up.”

“Claire?” Nicky questions.

“She was a nurse I used to go to when I got fucked up. It’s not like I can just walk into the ER dressed in spandex.”

Nicky kisses that scar too.

“Who the hell bit you?”

Frankie laughs, rolling over onto their back so they can look at the mark Nicky’s referring to, teeth marks wrapping around their forearm. It certainly stands out from the rest of the glowing marks on their body. “Venom possessed a dog, and it attacked me. Very clever and very rude. They knew I couldn’t resist a cute dog.”

Nicky laughs. “Deadass?”

“Deadass.”

“And what about these?” She says, holding both of Frankie’s hands palms up. There’s a matching mark cutting through each one. 

“Would you believe that pans are hot when they come out of the oven?” 

“You didn’t.” Nicky gapes, not so subtly holding back a smile.

“I did.” Frankie snorts. The burns had healed in less than a day, but they stung like a bitch.

Nicky kisses each of those marks too, and Frankie’s breath hitches. She’s sitting on their thighs now, calloused hands around each of theirs. Her thumbs trace along Frankie’s knuckles, split so many times that the marks overlap a dozen or more times. There’s no real story for those anymore. Arachnikid throws hands quite a lot.

Nicky’s hands venture up their arms, pausing at smaller knife marks and bullet holes but not asking. Frankie doesn’t remember getting a lot of them anyway. She traces a finger over a long mark on the right side of their chest, it overlaps the longer one from when Castle stitched them up for the first time. It’s not as straight as some of the others.

“Who gave you this one?”

“Goblin. She mostly deals in gasses and bombs, but those claws are for more than decoration.” Frankie says. “And I’m definitely not a fan.”

What Frankie doesn’t say is that those claws were drenched in neuro-toxin, and that for almost a week there was no Arachnikid. Frankie was absolutely bedridden, feverish and nauseated, and they couldn't see clearly beyond the edge of their nose. For a week they were completely normal, dealing with the worst flu of their life. The toxin would have killed a normal person, and Osborn knew that. She had designed it specifically to reverse the effects of the spider venom that her own company had created.

Frankie doesn’t say any of that, but it must be written on their face because Nicky gives them a soft smile, tucking her wavy hair back so she can kiss that scar too. Frankie’s skin is covered in goosebumps but neither of them mention it. After a moment she moves on, brushing along the overlapping slashes at the junction of their neck and shoulder.

“Doc Ock.” Frankie says, before Nicky can ask. “Got me on the neck too. I’m lucky he missed my jugular. I added the Masquerade Protocol to the suit after that one.”

The one on their shoulder still aches sometimes, when the weather is bad. Octavius had damaged the tendons there and rendered their arm pretty much useless for several days.

Frankie holds their breath as Nicky's lips brush the one on their throat. Her bangs tickle the bottom of their jaw. 

Frankie's no stranger to vulnerability. They've been at the mercy of too many villains to count. Tied down, drugged, or beaten bloody. This is different though. Frankie's got nothing to fear from Nicky, no worries about how she could abuse her position and make them hurt.

"And this one?" She kisses the mark that wraps around the bottom of their jaw.

"Venom again, got a matching one on my thigh. I’ve decided they’re my arch nemesis." Frankie grins. Nicky is pretty much laying on them now but Frankie doesn’t mind. It’s cozy and Frankie clasps their hands at the small of her back.

“Naturally.” Nicky smiles. “And what about this one?” She traces a finger along the bridge of Frankie’s nose. They’re a little surprised she can even see that tiny scar among the speckling of glowing acne marks.

“Dimitri, I think. He punched me in the face a whole lot.” They answer, scrunching up their nose when Nicky kisses that particular scar. 

If Frankie scarred like normal they’d probably be self-conscious of all the gnarled lines that mar their skin. As it stands though, they’re kind of neat, like a tattoo. Sure, some of them have heavier memories than others, but as a whole they’re a map of all the things Frankie has survived. A reminder.

“Lemme guess, Dimitri again?” Nicky asks, thumbing the formless scar on Frankie’s right temple. That one had hurt.

“Nah. A building exploded. That was the first time Claire had to patch me up.”

“You have got to be careful with all this head trauma, babe.” She says, after kissing that scar as well. “You need your brain cells to graduate.”

“I know. I know.” Frankie groans with pretend annoyance. “I haven’t had a concussion in like, a year and a half. It’s all good.”

“Mhm. I certainly hope so.” Nicky says, seemingly abandoning her scar mapping for the time being. Frankie has dozens and dozens of scars, some they don’t even remember getting, some that don’t have stories beyond “I got shot” or “I got stabbed.” There’s a lot of stupid nicks and scrapes. Their knees glow brightly from the time they tried out Toby’s skateboard and ate concrete, and there’s a couple nicks on the bottoms of their feet from that time Comet stole their shoes and ran around the green.

Maybe Frankie is biased, but they’re pretty sure Nicky is the prettiest person they know. The blue light from Frankie’s skin makes her olive skin look washed out and a little gaunt, but she’s still gorgeous. Her face is just inches from theirs so Frankie takes the opportunity to lean up and kiss her pretty mouth.

If Frankie were so inclined, this is the time when things would escalate and get heated. All the boxes are checked. Mood lighting, late hour, emotional vulnerability, and Frankie’s only wearing their sleep shorts. But they’re not so inclined, so instead they kiss softly for a couple minutes before Nicky pulls away with a soft sigh and a softer smile, tucking her head under Frankie’s chin. She runs a fingertip over a knife mark on their shoulder, but doesn’t ask about it.

Frankie lets the glow fade, scars disappearing in the dark. They sigh, settling into the mattress and closing their eyes.

“You should be more careful out there.” Nicky hums, splaying her hand flat across Frankie’s shoulder.

“I’ll try my best, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really just a slut for soft vulnerability.  
> [Here's](https://keensepticeye.tumblr.com/post/644051296864829440/heres-what-frankies-bioluminescence-and-scars) some art showing off some of their scars


	4. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otto is an asshole, and Nicky has a first aid kit.

Frankie tries not to get wounded too badly for a number of reasons. For one, it hurts, and for another they know it freaks Nicky out and makes her worry. 

Arachnikid, however, tends to have a different approach to combat than say, Black Panther, or Hawkeye or what have you. More often than not they end up taking hit after hit in an attempt to wear down whoever it is they're fighting. It’s really not the best approach, and after all these years they’ve gotten better at dodging, but sometimes you still have to take hits in battle. Which brings them to now, crawling into the window of their apartment in the dead of night, bleeding in several places, and trying not to wince when they feel their cracked ribs shift with every breath.  _ Fucking Octavius. _

Frankie’s quiet as they drop from the ceiling to the floor, and as they peel their suit off and drop it in the bathtub (though they flinch a little as the hard plastics click against the tub walls). They’re even quiet as they pull on a clean pair of shorts and lay down in the bed. The mattress is soft and all the tension bleeds out of Frankie’s body, along with a little blood. They’re not in danger of bleeding out, but they’re super bruised and grateful that Nicky bought dark sheets.

Unfortunately, the woman in question is a very light sleeper. Frankie managed not to wake them up crawling in, or getting undressed, but the moment the mattress shifts, so does she, rolling over in the dark. 

"Babe? You good?"

"Uh-huh." Frankie says, hopefully steady enough that Nicky will roll over and go back to sleep. No dice.

"Bullshit, Stevens. You bleedin'?"

Damn she's good. 

"A little. Mostly just bruised.” 

Nicky sighs and flicks on the bedside lamp. Frankie hadn’t lied, but they do look pretty awful. Their body is covered in varying shades of mottled black, blue, and yellow, and their left eye is swollen. The few scrapes they have are bleeding sluggishly, and will probably be gone by morning.

“You get the number of the truck that hit you?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You might know it. Really sweaty, has eight legs. Goes by the name Otto.” They try to joke, but Nicky just shoots them an unimpressed look. 

“I’ll be like eighty percent good by morning. Go back to sleep, darling.” Frankie promises, but Nicky isn’t swayed. Instead she rolls her eyes and swings her legs off the bed, shuffling to the bathroom.

“You’re getting blood on the sheets.” She says as justification.

Frankie sighs fondly, slowly pushing theirself back upright just as Nicky comes out of the en suite with the first aid kit. It’s pretty extensive and bounces when Nicky throws it onto the bed.

“You gotta be more careful out there.” Nicky says, wiping at one of the scrapes on their face with a saline soaked piece of gauze. Her hands are gentle but the bruising is tender and Frankie tries not to wince.

“Sorry.” Frankie replies, chewing on their lower lip (thankfully not split this time) and avoiding Nicky’s gaze. She’s not swearing up a blue streak, which means she’s not  _ mad,  _ but she’s not exactly happy either.

They get it. Frankie heals quickly, so they end up taking a lot more damage than is probably healthy, physically and emotionally, because they know they’ll be fine. They fight up close and personal, so it’s practically a given that they never come out of a battle unscathed. They know they’ll be fine, but it still must be hard for Nicky to see them like this. Nicky who heals at a snail’s pace in comparison and is much more fragile. Tough as their girlfriend is, she’s still human.

Frankie used to lay awake at night, wondering if today would be the day their dad wouldn’t come home, wondering if his colleagues were going to knock on the apartment door and take their hats off, sorrow in their eyes. They can’t imagine it’s any different for Nicky, every time Arachnikid crawls out the window for patrol or is seen swinging headlong at villains a dozen times their size or more. Except Nicky wouldn’t get the courtesy of a knock on the door. At most she’d get a phone call or a news headline.

The room is practically silent as Nicky works, wiping away the blood and pasting bandages over the wounds that still ooze. They’re all shallow enough that they’ll be gone completely by noon tomorrow, thankfully. Frankie tunes out the noises of the city, the traffic, the people, anything and everything but the steady rhythm of Nicky’s breath.

Nicky can be hard to read when she wants to be, but just as she had learned to read Frankie, Frankie had learned to read her. The small line between her eyebrows, the tension in her jaw and the line of her shoulders, and the way she does her task with single-minded focus means that she’s worried, anxious. She hates seeing them like this because it reminds both of them how incredibly dangerous their work as Arachnikid is. When she hands Frankie a couple of modified painkillers they take her hand in theirs. Her hands are warm and rough with oar callouses. 

“Hey.” They say gently. “I’m okay, promise. I’m sorry I make you worry all the time.”

Nicky gives them a tight smile. “Worrying is in my nature, the same way heroism is in yours. So long as you come home every night, I’ll be happy.”

Frankie takes the painkillers gratefully, downing them with a meal replacement shake (the only way they can get enough calories for their absurd metabolism). The pills don’t last as long as normal ibuprofen would, which is why Nicky pops a cold pack and sticks it carefully over the worst looking section of their ribs, practically black with bruising, and probably a little cracked. Frankie hums in appreciation, laying down slowly as Nicky pushes the kit to the floor and flicks off the lights.

Frankie is too beat up to properly cuddle, so when Nicky crawls under the sheets they grab her hand in theirs, lacing their fingers together. The clock is blinking a terrible four am now and their eyelids are heavy as lead.

“I love you.” They say, because they need to make sure Nicky knows.

“I love you too.” She replies. “Get some sleep.”

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are my socials!  
> [Here's my Twitter!](https://twitter.com/jennsepticeye)  
> [Here's my Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/jennsepticeye/)  
> [Here's my Tumblr!](https://keensepticeye.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed!


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